


A True Stamp Of Character

by JoMarr



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gender Roles, Genderplay, He Will Be So Pissed When He Finds Out, It's Pizzled, Kink Bingo 2013, Punishment, Tattoos, Watersports, lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoMarr/pseuds/JoMarr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>noncon/dubcon (one character is not privy to the entire details of the kink), no other content notes apply.</p>
    </blockquote>





	A True Stamp Of Character

**Author's Note:**

> noncon/dubcon (one character is not privy to the entire details of the kink), no other content notes apply.

Arthur clapped the knight that he had just felled on the shoulder, and laughed. “All right. I suppose you lot have had enough practice for the day.” He gave the man a playful parting shove as he tried to rise, leaving the man sprawled on his backside amid his companion’s laughter.  
Gwen waited for him at the top of the stairs. The king’s swagger said as much to her as his smile did; it had been another good day at practice, which he always defined as being able to not only hold his own among his cadre of skilled warriors, but to come out on top.  
“Good afternoon, my lord,” she said, giving a well-practiced curtsy as he arrived.  
“A good afternoon indeed, my lady,” he said, taking her hand and giving it a kiss, his good humor twinkling in his eyes. He twined her arm with his, and clasped her hand between his own, tugging her snugly against him as they walked together down the hallway. He smelled strongly of sweat, leather, and oiled metal.  
“Isn’t this a bit earlier than usual for you to stop practice?” she asked.  
“It is. But, I have an appointment to keep, today.” His fingers stroked over her hand and squeezed. “Are you busy?”  
“I believe I’m free for a bit. So this isn’t a private appointment?”  
“From you, my dear, there is nothing I would keep private. Though I will hedge a bit, and tell you that the nature of it is a surprise.”  
“Ooh, well, I love surprises,” she murmured, swaying her hip so that it rubbed against his as they walked. He licked his lips and gave her hand another slow, lingering squeeze. 

The person waiting for them in their private chambers was certainly a different figure from any of the others in Camelot. His long, blonde hair was braided down to the small of his back, and his beard was nearly as long, and contained the same way. His truly striking features, however, were the tattoos that covered his arms, all the way down to the tops of his hands. Ornate spirals, braided borders, and twisting zoomorphic shapes all paraded down his flesh in dark lines. As they entered, he flicked his gaze to Gwen, a quick and fleeting look before he nodded to Arthur.  
“I’ve decided that I’m going to get something that no one else in Camelot has. I’m going to get myself a decoration, like Bjarn the Dan here’s got. The royal crest, drilled right into my skin. Where’d we decide was the spot to start? Right here?” He reached his left hand over to clap atop his right shoulder as he questioned the Dan. Bjarn nodded and mimicked the gesture, giving Gwen another look as he did so.  
Arthur caught the look that time, and looked back to his wife, taking a deliberate stride to put himself between her and the big, bad barbarian. “Are you all right with his being here?” he asked.  
“Oh, of course. I’m sure it will be all right. I…actually can’t wait to see how it will look on you.”  
Arthur puffed his chest out. “Me neither. Just a shame it’ll be on the back of my shoulder. Are you sure we can’t move it round to the front? I want to see how you do it.”  
“Oh, no, you’ll want it on the back,” Bjarn said, in his thick yet lilting accent. “That’s where I got my first. Once you get a taste of the ink, you’ll want it all over, in any case.”  
“Hmm, well, you’re the tradesman, so I’ll leave it to your discretion,” Arthur said, started to undo the straps holding on his spaulder and gorget.  
Gwen stepped forward to help him. “Oh, no, no darling. Don’t worry about this,” Arthur said as he shook his head at her. “I suppose _Merlin’s_ still at the tavern.” He gave a soft snort and twisted to and fro as he got the first piece off without help. “No matter. I think I should know my own way around armor by now.”  
“Oh, yes. Far better than a blacksmith would, I’m sure,” Gwen said, stepping away obediently.  
Arthur chuckled. “Oh, yes, that’s right. You are, my dear, a most uniquely-skilled woman. But part of my duty to you means that you need not exert yourself unnecessarily.” He unbuckled his belt and wormed his way out of his hauberk, grunting. “Besides, I’m pretty much done.”  
“Fair enough. But you must be thirsty. I’ll get you some water.”  
He took the cup from her with a smile when she returned, brushing his fingers over the back of her hand. “Thank you, darling. You’re always so good to me.”  
“It’s no more than you deserve.” She watched as he drank, a stray droplet of water coursing down the strong column of his throat. She smiled to him as she relieved him of the cup.  
Her smile lingered as he stripped out of his tunic. She had watched him undress before, when he didn’t know she could see him. There was always a difference. When she was around, when he knew that she was watching, his back was always straighter, his shoulders always squared. There was always a certain flexion of muscles. He enjoyed preening and strutting for her. And it was always a sight that she loved to watch.  
Behind them both, Bjarn had quietly readied his tools on a nearby table. There were many long, sharp needles of differing thicknesses, though the difference between most of them was difficult to gauge by any eye but his. There was also a small block of wood, and a pot of ink.  
His upper torso completely bared, Arthur plopped onto the low stool in front of Bjarn’s seat. “Right! Let’s get this underway,” he said briskly, as if it had been the Dan’s fault for any delay. He squared his shoulders and set his hands on his hips, muscles rippling smoothly along his back and his ribs, and in his shoulders. He did not normally sit like that. Only when she was watching.  
Bjarn worked methodically, but with a quickness born of long practice. He would dip the bone needle into the ink, and drive it into Arthur’s skin with quick, hard taps of the block of wood, working his way in curving lines to form the agreed-upon pattern. Arthur gritted his teeth all the while. To his credit, he did not jump, or flinch…or at least, he did not do it in the manner that most people would. Instead, he took great pains to keep his form perfectly straight, if not lean into the needle, and, aside from biting back a grunt now and then, he made no sound of pain. Only the flaring of his nostrils and the working of his lips indicated any form of discomfort. Beads of sweat formed on his brow, and Gwen got him more water to drink. She was certain that her presence here was contributing to his stoic practice. She stood behind him to hide her smile.  
“How’s the beast coming along?” he asked after a while, his voice taut. Gwen knew that was his way of asking, ‘how much longer is this going to last?’ Bjarn had completed the outline, and had switched to smaller needles to render the details.  
“It’s beautiful, Arthur,” Gwen murmured. “Absolutely perfect.”  
“Is it fierce?”  
“Oh yes, quite fierce. Pizzled, even. It looks better than I could possibly ever imagine.”  
“Ah ha,” Arthur laughed. “I knew you’d been dreaming of me with one of these markings. I’ve seen how you’ve been eyeing those hairy pirates whenever they come this far inland.” He bared his teeth as Bjarn sent the needle driving in to compose the beast’s eye. “No offense.”  
“None taken,” the hairy pirate muttered. His taps were fewer and far between now, as he nailed down the very last of the beast’s details. Arthur bit back a grimace and was trying not to squirm, though it was obvious that it was getting increasingly difficult not to.  
“All right,” the Dan said at last, after he had sat back for some moments and stared at what he’d drawn. “It is done.”  
“Excellent,” Arthur said, shooting up out of his seat. “Where’s a mirror? I want to see it.”  
“Ach! I knew I was forgetting something,” Bjarn said.  
“I can assure you that it looks wonderful,” Gwen said, pressing herself against Arthur and wrapping her arms around his waist. She kissed him deeply enough to make the mirror suddenly seem less of a necessity.  
“Er, yes, well…your payment.” Arthur fumbled at his belt, his fingers hitting her hip and raking clumsily as he searched out the pouch that he sought, and tugged it free. “If my good wife approves, then it’s good enough for me.” He handed the pouch to the Dan without looking at him, his gaze captured in Gwen’s own searching, hungry gaze.  
“Thank you, Your Highness.” The barbaric-looking artist swept his supplies into their box, and pounded his chest as he inclined his head. “Your Majesty,” he offered, with a separate salute to Gwen, as he left.  
“Thank God,” Arthur murmured, into Gwen’s kissing mouth. “I have to piss like a horse.”  
“That’s the only reason you were squirming?” Gwen asked, her lips curving in a smile against his.  
“Well, you’re certainly giving me other reasons to do so,” Arthur said, with a breathy laugh. Then, he pushed gently at her. “Seriously though, Gwen, I’ve got to pee.”  
Gwen did not relinquish her grip. “So? I can help you with that.” Now she was pushing, walking him step by step backwards toward the bed.  
“I’m pretty sure I can handle that by myself,” Arthur laughed, as he flopped into a seat at the edge of the bed. He grunted as Gwen’s weight shoved against him when she leaned down to retrieve the chamberpot. She was being quite stubborn about this. She shifted from his lap only to adjust her skirt to make room between them.  
“Okay, Gwen, this…this is just weird,” Arthur muttered, as she worked her hand inside of his breeches and brought him out, aiming him over the pot.  
“What’s so wrong with sitting down to pee?” Gwen murmured. “Besides…you’ve never complained about me touching your cock before…” Her thumb rubbed along its top, and she latched her mouth onto his, tongue plunging to stifle any more complaint. He grunted, squirmed, and finally relaxed a bit beneath her. A moment later, the metallic sound of his piss trickling into the pot was echoing dully between them.  
“You are nothing if not helpful,” Arthur gasped, when she let him up for air again.  
“What can I say? It’s in my background. In my blood.” The issue may have held rancor for them both in an earlier time, but they could joke about it, now.  
“Well…now you can help me get you out of that dress.” 

Normally, he liked to have her on top, so he could drink in the sight of her and feel her bobbing up and down on him, so he could reach up and grab her breasts in the hard, bruising grip that he used when he was excited. Today, though, he took her beneath him, driving into her with hard thrusts. Perhaps it was because his shoulder was smarting.  
“It’s still a shame it couldn’t be on the front,” he said, as they rested afterward. “Then you could always see it on me.”  
“That wouldn’t be fair to the poor creature,” she said, stroking over his broad, sweaty chest. “He could never compare to the sight of your face.”  
He smiled down at her. “Have you forgiven me, yet? For forgetting our anniversary.”  
“It’s all right, darling.”  
“Seriously, I do feel like a fool. The whole castle putting up decorations to celebrate, and it completely slipped my mind…”  
“As of this moment, my dear, you have completely paid for it in full. I forgive you.”  
As he disentangled himself from her and started to wash himself clean from the basin (muttering all the while about when Merlin would bother to get there and fix them a proper bath), she sat up and admired his tattoo. It was not the dragon he had requested, but she was well pleased with it all the same. Having put the idea into his mind to get such a mark, she’d known that Bjarn was going to be the one to give it to him. And he had done just as she had asked him to do, privately, and with a bonus payment of gold.  
Arthur’s shoulder bore a rampant ass, its long ears pricked forward, its blunt muzzle bared in a toothy bray. Its tail was lifted high, and its tapered prick looked as if it was helping it counterbalance on its dancing legs. She wasn’t sure how long it would take him to find out what had really been put on him, but she knew that by that time, Bjarn would have taken the servants’ passage down to the postern gate, and be long gone. She had made sure to amply compensate him for the fact that he would never be able to trade at the castle ever again.  
 _Yes_ , she thought, _I think that makes us even_.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Gender play one of those things where all KINDS of interesting things can be done with it, if you handle it correctly, but the urge for me to be ham-handed with it is strong. I opted for hypermasculinity. 
> 
> And can I award myself some bonus points for including watersports but not simply having someone pee on the tattoo? Yessss. 
> 
> Arthur is NOT going to be happy when he finally sees his tat, but good luck waging war with a seafaring people like the Dan when you've got a whole island full of factions that would like to depose you.


End file.
